Drake could hear a few sniggers from behind, but said nothing. He refused to give Hawkins the satisfaction.
‘Oh, I get it,’ Hawkins went on. ‘You’re still steamed up about what happened in Pakistan, right? Look, I don’t blame you. It was a tough day for everybody, but I think we should both try to move past it. I mean, is it really worth jeopardising a friendship over something like that?’ Soulless blue eyes stared at Drake, probing and searching for a reaction. ‘And in the spirit of friendship, I thought we’d have ourselves a little reunion.’
The sudden thump of footsteps on the stairs announced the arrival of another of Hawkins’ men: a stocky man with a shaved head and long, bushy beard that was turning to grey around the chin. He was hauling a bound and hooded figure beside him. Drake could feel his heart beating faster at the sight of the torn and bloodied clothes, the short stature and petite frame, and felt his empty stomach churn at the stream of curses and threats pouring out from beneath the hood.
‘You fucking prick!’ a muffled female voice yelled. ‘Take your goddamn hands off me, you piece of shit! Too fucking scared to fight a woman, huh?’
A booted foot shot out, catching her captor hard across the shin. Far from taking him down, however, the stinging blow only raised his ire.
As the operative yanked and fought with her, Hawkins turned to Drake and grinned in amusement. ‘Got a mouth on her, that one,’ he observed. ‘Kinda makes you wonder what else she can do with it, huh?’
‘This is between us,’ Drake said then, his voice rasping through a parched throat that hadn’t seen water in days. ‘Leave her out of it.’
Hawkins’ sneer was still there, but his eyes told a different story. ‘Relax, Ryan. Jesus, you’re so uptight these days,’ the older man chided. ‘We’re just going to have ourselves a little talk. What happens after that… Well, that’s up to you.’
Finally manhandling the diminutive young woman into the middle of the room, the operative whipped her hood off to reveal a tangle of short dark hair and a bruised, cut and furious face.
Keira Frost possessed perhaps the fiercest temper and the foulest mouth Drake had ever encountered in the military or CIA – a combination that had immediately endeared her to him. Standing only a couple of inches over five feet and weighing barely a hundred pounds, she was hardly a dominant physical presence, but she made up for her lack of stature with grit, determination and unbridled physical aggression.
As soon as she caught Drake’s eye, however, that aggression melted away, replaced by fear, concern and, worst of all, pity.
‘Ryan,’ she gasped.
‘Good of you to join us, Keira,’ Hawkins said, seemingly enjoying the look on her face. ‘Ryan and I were just catching up on old times. Weren’t we, Ryan?’
In that instant, hearing Hawkins’ voice, the shock and compassion vanished from her and she launched herself straight at him. Armed with nothing but her bare hands, she was willing to take anything, endure any injury or torment to get at the man who had killed her friend right in front of her.
But it wasn’t to be. For all her frenzied rage, Keira couldn’t break the hold of her far larger and stronger captor. A kick to the back of the leg dropped her to her knees, and a painful armlock applied with little restraint was enough to elicit a groan of pain.
‘Well, I can tell you’re going to be the life and soul of this party,’ Hawkins remarked, both impressed and amused by her attempt to attack him. ‘And thank God, because Ryan’s not exactly setting the room alight just now.’
‘Want me to break her arm, boss?’ the bearded operative asked, clearly eager to hear an affirmative after the abuse he’d taken from her.
Hawkins fixed him with a sharp look that suggested his presence was wanted here, but his opinions were not. ‘We’re not savages, Hoffmann. Let’s not act like it.’
‘Cut him down from there, you sick fuck,’ Frost demanded, struggling vainly against her captor’s hold. ‘Can’t you see he’s freezing to death?’
Hawkins shrugged, apparently unconcerned with the possibility that another prisoner might die under his charge. ‘Ryan’s a tough guy. In fact, between you and me, he used to scare the shit out of me.’
Frost looked from Hawkins to Drake. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
‘You mean he never told you?’ Hawkins glanced over at Drake, feigning shock. ‘Seriously, man? You never told her how far you and I go back?’
Drake said nothing. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
‘Ryan, I am hurt and offended by that, my friend. Guess I’ll just have to fill her in myself.’ Sighing as if resigning himself to a difficult task, Hawkins hunkered down so that he was at eye level with the young woman. ‘How long have you known Ryan? Four, five years? Bet he’s a nice guy to work for, huh? Fair, decent, always doing the right thing. Boring as shit.’
Frost looked from Hawkins to Drake, trying to work out what was coming.
‘But he wasn’t always like that,’ Hawkins went on. ‘Old Ryan used to be a stone-cold killer. We were in the same unit in Afghanistan. Kind of a… special group of like-minded individuals, doing jobs other soldiers would find… difficult to live with. But not us. They gave us everything we needed, turned us loose, and we made all their dreams come true. Afghanistan was our canvas, and we painted masterpieces all over it. Of course, we only worked in red.’ He grinned in amusement, then rose and walked towards Drake. ‘And Ryan was one of my best artists. You know why? It’s not skill or experience, it’s passion that makes the difference. Ryan loved what he did. Watching him at work… well, it was a thing of beauty. You should have seen him in his prime. Then you’d know him like I do.’
‘I do know him, asshole,’ Frost hissed through gritted teeth. ‘Ryan’s a good man. I don’t give a shit what he did before. Doesn’t change who he is now.’
‘Really? Because I’m wondering just who, exactly, Ryan Drake is right now,’ Hawkins said. ‘From what I’ve seen over the past few days, he’s a guy willing to pass up the chance to kill Osama bin fucking Laden himself, just to settle a personal score. He’s a guy willing to endanger innocent civilians who get in his way. He’s also a guy willing to trade one friend’s life over another. Is that who Ryan Drake is to you, Keira?’
‘Fuck you,’ she replied. ‘You put him in that position.’
Drake was focussed less on their argument than on the memories Hawkins’ accusation had stirred up. For a long time now, he had sensed there were two people within him, locked in an eternal battle for dominance. One was the man his friends and comrades had come to know over the past few years, a man who was compassionate, logical, understanding and loyal.
Then there was the other side of him. The Ryan Drake who had been created and unleashed in Afghanistan. A man who was violent and sadistic and filled with animalistic rage, driven by a lust for killing, who revelled in death and destruction.
A man Hawkins had instantly felt a kinship with.
Even since then, that darker side of Drake had lain dormant – a monster hiding in the shadows waiting for its chance to rise again. But over the past couple of years, it had begun to reassert itself at times of great danger and desperation, clouding his behaviour and darkening his thoughts. Drake had had to work harder and harder to force the monster back into the shadows. But this time every ounce of that monster’s hatred, rage and malice was directed at Hawkins.
Hawkins saw it too, and his smile was triumphant. ‘There he is,’ he said quietly, looking like a man reunited with a long-lost friend. ‘There’s the Ryan I used to know. So he’s still in there after all.’
‘Don’t listen to this fucking asshole, Ryan,’ Frost implored, wincing as her captor increased the pressure on her arm. ‘He doesn’t know you, and he doesn’t control you.’
‘You know, it’s a shame we had to part ways like we did,’ Hawkins went on, ignoring her pleas. ‘I always thought the best was still to come. It’s a pity Operation Hydra had to fuck everything up.’
> Drake felt his stomach twist at the name. Hydra – the operation that had changed everything. A disaster that had caused him to be court-martialled in secret and ejected from the military with the threat of dire repercussions if he so much as spoke of it to anyone.
Once again, he was assailed by the same horror he’d experienced that day. A blur of confused and disjointed images appeared in his mind. Smoke and fire, charred bodies and the cries of his dying comrades. Silent figures stalking through the black haze with drawn weapons, while the sun shone like blood. Drake fleeing the scene, and gunfire ringing out behind him.
‘Because I stopped being one of your killers that day?’ Drake rasped, his look of utter hatred making up for the weakness of his voice. ‘Or because I didn’t turn into you? I wonder which one hurts the most.’
Hawkins’ smile turned into a chuckle of amusement. ‘That really how you remember it?’ he asked, looking genuinely interested. ‘Maybe you ought to think about it some more, Ryan. Go ahead, see how much you can really remember about that day.’
Drake frowned, trying to focus his thoughts, to gather the images and scenes into a coherent narrative. Drake was running, stinging smoke and heat rasping his throat. The sun casting a crimson glow on everything. Silent, faceless men with drawn weapons.
A blood-red sun, growing stronger and darker. Becoming black, absorbing everything, until the world was swallowed up around him.
Screams in the darkness.
Drake came back to himself with a gasp, trembling visibly, a sheen of sweat coating his brow.
Hawkins stood watching him. ‘Didn’t work, did it? Let me guess, the black sun?’ he taunted. ‘They’re nothing if not consistent.’
‘What… what did they do to me?’ Drake whispered, shocked by the feelings stirred up by his attempt to remember. He felt physically sick and utterly terrified. It was the kind of primal, irrational terror that visited children in nightmares.
‘Insurance,’ Hawkins said by way of explanation. ‘Can’t have you going out into the world knowing what you knew. Even if you promised not to talk, there was always a chance you’d change your mind. And they don’t deal in chances. To be honest, I’m surprised they didn’t just kill you.’ He shrugged. ‘Must be what happens when you have friends in high places.’
‘Who are they?’ he asked.
Hawkins held Drake’s eye. ‘Who do you think? Same people you pissed off in Libya.’
Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. ‘The Circle,’ Drake said slowly.
The Circle. The shadowy organization of shifting allegiances, unknown motives and virtually unlimited resources that Drake and his team had encountered in Libya almost a year prior. Men with the power and influence to start wars, topple governments, cripple economies and snuff out individual lives like they were nothing.
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The men who were now Drake’s enemies had once been his employers.
‘Are you really that surprised? They’ve been running the show since before you were born, Ryan, and they’ll be around long after you’re gone. Anyway, they’re not your concern any more,’ he said, backing away. ‘Right now, I want to talk about something a little closer to home. Well, actually someone.’
Drake could already guess who he was referring to. Anya. She was the reason he and Frost were still alive. Somehow she’d escaped the failed mission in Pakistan, and was still at large. As Drake had already learned, Cain was determined to get his hands on her, and had almost certainly tasked Hawkins with forcing the information from Drake.
‘You might think, given our respective situations, that I’m in control here,’ Hawkins continued, setting his cup of coffee on the table. ‘But you’d be wrong, Ryan. I don’t want you to think that way. Because the truth is, you’re in control. You make the decisions. What happens from this point on is entirely up to you. Whether you and Frost leave this place alive or dead depends on how you answer one simple question. Where’s Anya?’
Drake said and did nothing. He just hung there suspended from the cuffs, while the frantic beating of his heart filled his ears.
‘No answer is still an answer, Ryan,’ Hawkins warned him. ‘Are you sure you want to test me like this?’
Drake saw Frost giving a barely discernible shake of the head. He understood her sentiment – don’t give the bastard anything. I can take whatever he dishes out.
‘I don’t know,’ Drake said, speaking honestly. ‘I lost her in Pakistan. She could be anywhere by now.’
Hawkins, glancing at the guard holding Frost, let out a sigh of disappointment. ‘I had a feeling you’d say that.’
Whirling around, he drew back a clenched fist and slammed it into Drake’s midsection. Restrained and hanging as he was, Drake could do nothing to protect himself, and groaned as the impact rippled through his already bruised body. Had there been anything left in his stomach, he was quite certain he would have thrown up at that point.
‘You know, I’m trying to work with you here, buddy,’ Hawkins said, placing a hand on Drake’s shoulder and leaning in close. ‘I’m trying to steer you on the right course, give you a chance to help us out. But you are making it real difficult for both of us.’
Drake spotted movement behind Hawkins. Frost had jerked her foot backwards, landing a solid blow to the guard’s groin. As he bent double, his grip on her arm slackened and she was able to wrench free, launching herself at Hawkins.
She never got the chance to strike. Whirling around to face her as if he’d been expecting the attack all along, Hawkins backhanded her with a blow powerful enough to snap her head around.
‘No!’ Drake cried out as Hawkins grabbed the young woman by the neck, lifted her off the ground and slammed her down on the heavy wooden table, which shuddered under the impact.
Drake heard the distinctive metallic rasp as a blade was unsheathed, saw a flash of steel in the harsh electric lights, and suddenly the room was filled with Frost’s screams. Drake could only stare in horror at the knife protruding from Frost’s right hand, its point deeply embedded in the table’s scarred surface as bright red blood began to pool beneath it. She was now trapped on the table, literally skewered to its surface.
‘Now that has got to hurt,’ Hawkins exclaimed, rolling his shoulders to loosen them up. ‘I mean I’m no doctor, but shit, all the way through? Goddamn, guess you won’t be using any computers for a while, huh?’
It was then that Drake understood Hawkins’ act of self-defence hadn’t just been a quick reaction. He’d planned the exact moment Frost would escape from her guard, just as he’d planned to have that table in here.
Frost’s attempt to yank the blade free was a wasted effort. She couldn’t hope to equal the brute strength that had driven it into the table, and even if she could, her position afforded her no leverage.
Frost, her teeth bared, her face tight with pain, nonetheless managed a show of defiant rage. ‘Fuck you!’ she screamed, spitting at him.
Hawkins shook his head. ‘Not exactly what I had in mind, but the boys here will be happy to oblige you.’
At a nod, the two guards began to approach the injured woman from different directions. Frost lashed out at them with her feet and her free hand, but she was incapable of fending them off for long.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Drake demanded. ‘Stop this!’
Hawkins folded his arms, keeping his eyes on the spectacle unfolding before them. ‘Like I said, Ryan, everything that happens here is down to you. We can stop right now if you want. Or… we can watch while the boys have some fun.’
One of the guards had succeeded in pinning Frost’s other hand to the table, while the second, dodging several vicious kicks, managed to get in close and spread her legs apart.
‘You fucking sick bastard,’ Drake growled, still struggling to get air into his lungs after Hawkins’ punch.
‘Been a while since they had any action, so I’m guessing they can go two, maybe three times each.’ Hawkins shrugged, mak
ing it clear he would do nothing to intervene either way. ‘And I will make you watch every single one of them, Ryan. Believe that.’
The harsh rip of tearing fabric, and Frost’s shirt was ripped aside to expose her breasts. She was bucking and thrashing wildly, but it was clear she was fighting a losing battle.
‘I could just have them taser her, but it’s more interesting when they make a fight of it, know what I mean?’ Hawkins remarked conversationally. ‘How much longer do you think she’ll last anyway? A minute? Two?’
‘Tell them to stop!’ Drake shouted.
‘Give me Anya. Then we’ll see.’
‘Don’t you do it!’ Frost snarled. ‘Don’t give him shit!’
‘I told you, I don’t know where she is!’ Drake pleaded. ‘She cut us loose after Pakistan. Even you must know she would have had to go dark so we couldn’t compromise her.’
‘There must be a way to contact her,’ Hawkins pressed, as the bearded guard started working at Frost’s trousers. ‘Think, Ryan.’
Drake shook his head, refusing to watch. ‘We used burner email accounts. No phone number, nothing that could be tracked.’
‘What about places? You must have had a safe house or a fallback location.’ When Drake hesitated, Hawkins realized he was on to something. ‘It’s going to be a very long night for all of us unless you speak up.’
Drake saw the fear and defiance in Frost’s eyes, and the determination not to be used as a pawn against him. She knew what he was thinking, knew he was close to breaking, and every atom of her being rebelled against it.
‘Don’t,’ she hissed at Drake as her captor yanked her trousers down. She was already bracing herself for what was coming, willing to endure it rather than betray another of their team.
‘I’ll tell you,’ Drake said, unable to watch any more.
Hawkins leaned in closer. ‘Sorry, you’ll have to say that again.’
Shadow Conflict Page 4